


The First Princess in a Tower

by kiranightshade



Series: Steter Week 2017 [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Peter Hale, Dragon Stiles Stilinski, Established Relationship, Holocaust, Jewish Character, M/M, Old Gods, Phoenixes, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Reincarnation, Royalty, Vikings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-05 02:57:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12785454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiranightshade/pseuds/kiranightshade
Summary: Peter has had many lives and Stiles has been there for them all.





	The First Princess in a Tower

It takes every ounce of control Stiles has to keep a straight face upon entering the hospital room.

Peter is his name this time. The scars are new, but Stiles has loved him with worse. He’s never been born a werewolf before either. Stiles has always liked werewolves. They understand loyalty and how to earn it. 

“Then they deserved it.”

Before Derek can so much as twitch, Scott is groaning on the ground and Stiles is fighting the urge to show him what eternally burning really feels like.

Stiles takes a deep breath, opens his mouth, and then thinks better of anything he’d like to say. He leaves them gawking after him. 

 

*** 

 

Stiles looks into the boiler room, a taunt on the tip of his tongue, and Peter looks back. His breath catches, and then Peter is gone. 

They run. Stiles splits them up, and then there’s an alpha werewolf towering over him in the empty cafeteria. 

Stiles stands still, looking up into Peter’s feral eyes, and reaches out to him. Peter freezes when they touch, and Stiles proceeds to run his fingers through his coarse fur across his cheek and down to his bicep. Peter calms as he inches closer, until they are at eye level and recognition bleeds into his eyes.

Stiles smiles, “Hey big guy. It’s been a while.”

The doors slam open, and Stiles is knocked to the ground in Peter’s haste. He breaks through the ceiling-high windows and disappears into the night. Stiles turns to Scott and wants to snap, but restrains himself. 

He plays the shaken teenager well. He just wishes he didn’t feel the need.

 

*** 

 

Stiles crashes into Melissa’s car and Peter is going to pay for this. He stomps over to him, and drags him by the ear to his car, throwing a quick excuse behind him for Melissa. 

He drives them to his house, and they have a very long talk once his bedroom door shuts.

 

*** 

 

Peter remembers bits and pieces as the days go on. It’s always his first life that comes to him the easiest. 

He remembers the gods of a following long since forgotten and the kingdom ruled by arrogant tyrants who defiled their names. He remembers tutors and ball gowns and your highness. He remembers his sixteenth birthday and a betrothed that struck fear into his heart. He remembers a curse, not for him but his parents. He remembers being taken and he remembers the dragon entrusted with his care. He remembers dying happy and old in his tower.

He remembers hearing his legend from his mother before bed. He remembers not remembering any of it. He remembers cold winters and empty bellies and desperate men. He remembers being alone. He remembers wandering through the woods, hoping to come across something to eat, and he remembers being found by a man with sharp teeth and eyes like fire. 

He remembers training and new gods and raids. He remembers heavy furs and his chief and flaming arrows for the fallen. He remembers pale skin and old eyes and the most mischievous smile you’ve ever seen. A child of Loki, they called him. Peter called him Stiles and they rode together for many years.

He remembers the voyage to the new world and a tight hand on his shoulder that stank of tobacco and whiskey. He remembers rules and sinful thoughts and hurting for daring to love. He remembers fire taking away the one person he ever cared about. 

He remembers flying high in the mountains, hidden away with his single constant. He remembers gentle claws preening his vibrant feathers.

He remembers stars that hung like weights and broken noses for walking to close to the other boys on the way to school. He remembers the disgust of his neighbors and the helplessness of his parents. He remembers being hidden away under dirty floorboards as boots stomped dirt into his hair. He remembers his keeper warming him with a touch and he remembers the Allied flags flooding the streets. He remembers Stiles leading him into the sun for the first time since his parents died. 

 

*** 

 

“There you are,” Stiles says above him. 

They’re laying in his bed, curled together like they’ve been doing it for a millennia. 

“Stiles.”

“I’m here,” he whispers into his kiss, “I’ll always be here.”


End file.
